“The electric company does it to me all the time.” There was no one on the lawn; just the standard assortment of cats.
“We have generators that kick in before the lights even flicker. We can’t affordto lose power.” She started for the door. “We have systems that should never go off-line. April—”
“Jan, stop.” She froze. “Give me a second. Where are the generators stored, and who has access?”
“They’re in a room next to the servers, and everybody’s got access. I don’t even know if the door locks. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” I started for the door. “We need to go check the generators.”
“Follow me.” She reached for the doorknob. I nodded to Quentin and he stepped aside, letting her lead us out of the room.
The halls were even stranger in the dark, filled with shadows that didn’t quite match the objects casting them. Jan strode through them without flinching. Quentin followed close behind while I dropped back, taking the rear. Maybe we weren’t going to be attacked, but I refused to count on that when Jan was so surethe power couldn’t go out. She knew her company.
Jan stepped into the generator room and screamed.
ELEVEN
IONLY CAUGHT A GLIMPSE of what was in the room before I yanked Jan back into the hall, slamming the door behind her. “Peter,” she said, staring at the door. “That was Peter.”
“I thought you didn’t have any night vision. How can you be sure?”
“No one else in this company has wings.”
“Damn.” I looked back toward the door. “I need to go in there.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Jan asked, frowning.
“Without backup?” asked Quentin.
“I need to see the body, and that means I need to get the generators back up. How do I do that?” Death doesn’t bother me, but murder makes me edgy, and my lack of weaponry suddenly felt like a potentially fatal mistake. If we got back to the hotel alive, I wasn’t coming here again without my knife and the baseball bat. And maybe a tank, if I could find one fast enough.
“Right.” Jan sighed. “There’s an orange switch on the second box inside the door. If there’s any gas left in the generators, you should be able to force them back online by flipping the switch, waiting thirty seconds, and flipping it again.”
“Okay.” Looking to Quentin, I said, “Stay here. If you see anything out of the ordinary or anyone acting strangely, grab Jan and run; I’ll catch up. Understand?”
“Yes,” he said. If he disapproved of my orders, he wasn’t showing it.
Jan looked like she was going to argue, but quieted when I glared at her. She was starting to display signs of sense.
“Good,” I said, before opening the generator room door and stepping inside.
The room was dark, lit only by a small, thick-glassed window, and looked deserted. That didn’t mean there was nothing in the room with me—just that anything that might be hiding in those shadows knew how to be quiet. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t such a positive thinker.
I paused, scanning the shadows while my eyes adjusted. I caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of one eye and whirled. There was nothing there. The “motion” was just the late afternoon sunlight slanting through the window and glinting along the edge of a steel girder. I stopped, taking a shuddery breath.
Finding the second generator from the door wasn’t hard: I inched along the wall until my thigh hit something sharp, stepped back, and then inched forward again until I hit something else. I wasn’t willing to move away from the wall; Peter was a dark blur at the center of the floor, and I didn’t want to step on him by mistake.
I was jumpier than I thought. I groped around until I found the panel with the switches; figuring out which one to flip was harder. The longer I stood there, the shakier I was getting, and Jan and Quentin were in the hall alone and unarmed. Time mattered. I settled for flipping the largest switch I could find, waiting thirty seconds and flipping it again. My heart thudded in my ears like a steel drum until the sound of the generator revving drowned it out. The engine coughed twice, turned over—and the lights came back on. I almost immediately wished that they hadn’t.
Peter was on his back, barely recognizable as the man we met when we arrived. Death had finally removed his human disguise. He was four feet tall, with delicate antennae and feathered gray hair, lying on a blanket made by his own gray-and-green wings. He’d been a Cornish Pixie, almost the only pixie breed large enough to interact with the bulk of Faerie as an equal.
Well, he wasn’t going to be doing anything as an equal anymore: he wasn’t going to be arguing about whether Klingon was a language, or confusing visiting changelings by wearing a human disguise when everyone else had shed theirs. It was starting to look like the ALH retirement plan was “get found dead in the back room.” Punctures broke his skin at the wrists and throat, dispelling the illusion that he was only sleeping. He was never going to wake up.
I knelt, touching his throat, and winced as I felt the lingering warmth of his skin. Blood and a thin film of dust covered my fingers: pixie-sweat. That gave me a time of death. Pixies stop “dusting” when they die, and the glittery traces they leave behind dissolve quickly. He couldn’t have been dead when the lights went out, or the pixie-sweat would have already faded.
The lights came back up too easily to have been sabotaged, but it made no sense for whoever had killed Peter to have also killed the power. The body would have gone undiscovered for hours, maybe even days, if we hadn’t needed to restart the generator. The killer could have had time to make a clean run of it . . . unless they knew that turning off the generators would lead us to the body, and were hoping to lead me—or maybe Jan—straight to Peter. This could have been a trap or a sick display. And, either way, someone wanted us to find the body.
Things were notlooking up.
I pressed my fingers to my lips, sampling the blood. Pixie-sweat masked the normal copper taste in a veil of ashes and burnt sugar, cloying, but no more unpleasant than usual. I wasn’t hoping for much, and I wasn’t disappointed. There was nothing in the blood—no life, no memory, nothing. It was empty.
The room only had the one door, plus the small, heavy-glassed window: logically, no one could have left once I was inside. Unfortunately, we were in a faerie knowe, where logic didn’t always apply. I stood, backing out of the room and closing the door behind me. Peter could wait a while—the dead are patient. “Quentin?”
“Here,” he said.
Good. I hadn’t left them to be slaughtered. Pulling the door shut, I turned. “He’s dead.”
Quentin nodded. “Now what?”
“Now we start to work.” I turned toward Jan. “Is there any other way into this room?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Just the one door.”
“Could April have gone inside without using it?”
“Not while the power was out,” said Jan firmly.
“Right. Quentin, set the wards.” He turned to blink at me, surprised. I smiled thinly. “Call it practice.” Practice, and avoiding a headache. As a pureblooded Daoine Sidhe, Quentin’s wards would be stronger than mine, and they’d cost him a lot less.
Nodding with sudden enthusiasm, Quentin stepped over to the closed door and raised his hands. The smell of steel and fresh-blooming heather rose around him, and the outline of the door flashed red, then white. Lowering his hands, he turned to look to me, as if for approval. I flashed him a thumbs-up, and he beamed, looking briefly, deeply, pleased. That was apparently exactly what he’d wanted. At least one of us was happy.
I turned my attention back to Jan. “We’re going to need to move the body, but we can’t do it alone. Let’s go find Elliot.”
“All right,” she said, nodding.
We’d only gone about ten yards when we heard someone running down the intersecting hall ahead of us. I pulled Jan to a stop, signaling for Quentin to get her against the wall, and started forward alone. It could be just another of the locals—but it could also be something worse, and none of us were armed. The best I could do was try to find out without getting us killed.